


Better Late Than Never

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Captain America (2011)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-02
Updated: 2011-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-24 06:01:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I believe I owe you a dance."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Late Than Never

Steve climbs the steps of the New York Public Library and takes a deep breath. The familiarity of it eases some of the intimidation. Seventy years might have passed, but the library is still the library. He and Bucky used to climb the lions and pretend to ride them like horses when they were kids.

He has other resources--Tony Stark has offered him more technology than he knows what to do with, and offered to teach him how to use it--but this is personal. Private. SHIELD doesn't need to know, though he wouldn't be surprised if they find out. It's what they do.

One of the research assistants takes pity on him, or maybe she's just afraid he's going to put his fist through the computer screen. He's certainly tempted to, when he can't find what he's looking for.

He explains and the woman taps at the keys quickly, easily, and once again, he's reminded that this is a whole new world he's woken up in.

She smiles at him and says, "This might be who you're looking for." She prints out the information, but he stares at the screen long enough to memorize the address and phone number. "There's no guarantee, of course. It's a common name."

"Of course," he says. There's no guarantee she's even still alive, let alone in the New York area, but stranger things have happened.

He thanks the librarian and heads back to Times Square in a daze.

He waits until he's back in his room at the SHIELD facility, and then he takes out the little telephone Agent Coulson insists he carry everywhere.

His fingers tremble as he dials the number. He was less nervous leading the Commandos into battle. It rings twice and then a female voice says, "Hello?"

"Um, hi," he says, and has to clear his throat. "May I speak with Peggy Carter?"

"I'm afraid she's not available at the moment. Can I take a message?"

"My name is Steve. Steve Rogers." He swallows hard and forces out the lie he'd come up with. "I believe my grandfather knew her during the war. He passed recently and left her something. I'd like to deliver it if possible."

"I'm so sorry for your loss," the woman says. "Nana used to tell us stories about him. I'm sure she'd be delighted to see you. She doesn't get many visitors these days."

He confirms the address and agrees to visit in the morning.

He dithers over what to wear, finally settling on a pair of black trousers and a white shirt. His shoes are polished to a high shine, and as he ties his tie, he remembers dressing for his mother's funeral in an eerily similar outfit. He considers changing, but he doesn't want to be late. He grabs the little musical device Tony gave him (he figures Peggy will know how to use it even if he doesn't), and heads out before anyone can question him.

Grand Central is another place that's hauntingly familiar and yet different. It's less crowded on Sunday morning than it is during the week, which is good. Large crowds still make him twitchy. He finds his train easily enough, and spends the ride up to Newburgh trying not to have any expectations and failing. He rubs his thumb over the smooth white plastic of the iPod and hopes he's not about to make a complete fool of himself.

He takes a taxi from the train station and soon enough he's standing in front of a little blue house with white shutters. He walks up the steps and rings the bell, then clasps his hands behind him to keep from fidgeting.

The young woman who opens the door looks like Peggy, enough to make Steve's heart leap in the hope of some sort of weird and miraculous coincidence that she hasn't aged either, but her accent is all New York as she says, "Hi, I'm Sharon. You must be Steve."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, and she snorts but lets him in.

"Nana, your visitor is here," Sharon calls. She offers him a seat in the living room and says, "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, thank you."

"You sure? It's no trouble."

"I'm sure."

"Sharon, get the nice man a drink."

Steve's heart stops for a second and then kicks hard against his ribs. He stands automatically when Peggy enters the room, her voice and face familiar despite the wrinkles lining her face. Her hair is a soft white areole around her head and her mouth is the same dark red bow he still sees in his dreams.

"Peggy." He mouths her name but nothing comes out.

"You're late," she says.

"Nana!" Sharon says reprovingly, before Steve can do more than hang his head.

Peggy waves her off. "Please make us some tea, dear. Captain Rogers and I have much to discuss."

As soon as Sharon is gone, Peggy takes a step, and then Steve sweeps her up into his arms. She feels small and fragile, but she still smells like Chanel No. 5 and baby powder.

"I believe I owe you a dance," he says when he pulls back. She keeps hold of his hands, and though hers are gnarled and spotted with age, they're still strong. He wishes she'd never let go.

"I believe you do," she says. "The Stork Club closed in 1965, you know."

"I didn't, actually." He clutches her fingers like a lifeline. "I'm so sorry."

She reaches up and cups his cheek gently. "Don't be. You did what needed to be done. You made us all very proud."

He blinks back the tears burning in his eyes and takes a deep, if slightly shaky, breath. "I wanted to thank you for, for everything."

She makes a scoffing noise and leads him back to the couch. She moves slowly, gingerly, but with the same purpose she always did. They sit with their knees touching, and she tells him about her life, the one she made while he was gone. He doesn't relinquish her hands until Sharon returns with two cups of tea. She takes one look at them, sets the cups on the coffee table, and disappears again before Steve can say thank you.

"She's a good girl," Peggy says fondly. "Works for the CIA now."

He nods and wonders if she knows the truth of who he is. "SHIELD found me," he says. And then, unsure of how much he can reveal, he pulls the iPod out of his pocket. "If you're still interested in that dance," he says, gesturing with it. "And you know how this thing works." He laughs and it only sounds a little nervous.

"Oh, I do," she says, taking it from him and plugging it into a rectangular white speaker that sits on the bookshelf. She presses the button in the middle, and the familiar sound of "String of Pearls" floats through the living room. "I am."

He gets up and takes her in his arms, twining their fingers together. At her touch, his heart flutters the same way it did in 1943. Her hand is light as a feather on his shoulder and her eyes are bright with the sheen of tears, though her mouth is curved in a wide smile.

"Now," she says, "follow my lead."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty sure the woman at the end of the movie is listed as Sharon Carter in the credits, but I've chosen to ignore that for the sake of this story.


End file.
